


Relapsing in Recovery

by GhostRequiem



Category: Trolls (2016), Trolls World Tour (2020), Trolls: The Beat Goes On (Cartoon)
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Depression, Depression isn't a sprint it's a marathon, F/M, and we're all still valid and loved, we all have bad days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:14:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25216831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostRequiem/pseuds/GhostRequiem
Summary: Do we ever really recover from Depression, or is it a lifelong battle? When your partner is someone who has barely been sad in their entire life, how do you explain your struggles?Branch wakes up on a Bad Day and is Grey again. Unbeknownst, Poppy is happily making blueberry pancakes and looking forward to breakfast with her lover.
Relationships: Branch/Queen Poppy (Trolls)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 72





	Relapsing in Recovery

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this a while back and never finished it. I wanted to post at least what I had, since it was a part of my headcanon that Branch fluctuates Colors depending on his mental state. When the Holiday Special and then Trolls World Tour came out, it seemed to back up the idea that Branch's Colors fluctuate based off his headspace and the way he's handling things.
> 
> Note: I've seen very little of The Beat Goes On because it relies heavily on cringe humor/secondhand embarrassment and that is rough for me to handle. It's cool if you like it; I just have to take it in very small doses and thus haven't seen much.

Branch swam through grogginess to crack his eyes open. The thick blankets were disturbed on his right, indicating Poppy had already gotten up and started her day. He felt cold without her, despite the covers, and after a yawn, he tasted a bitter, dry tang in his mouth, as if he’d been panting in his sleep again. Damn those nightmares.

The soft sweet scent of blueberries found him and he groaned, trying to force himself to face the outside of his safe bed. He enjoyed his mornings with Poppy; they were the only guaranteed time he had alone with her. After a false try, he struggled and sat up, swinging a leg over the side of the bed to rest a grey foot on the floor.

… **grey**. 

Panic flooded him, washing away the remainder of sleepiness. This wasn’t the first morning he’d awoken grey again, but this was the first time he’d have to face Poppy. He toyed with the thought of staying in bed and pretending to be asleep until she left, but the chance of not seeing her left him feeling worse. He heaved a sigh and stood up, his hands shaking.

She’ll find out, eventually, he thought, running hands through his darkened bedhead. He tugged his thick pajama pants into place and tiptoed down the hall.

Poppy was humming cheerily to herself as she contained what looked like batter-y chaos in the kitchen. Pancakes were sizzling merrily in a pan to her left as she whisked another batch together in a large bowl. Her hips wiggled in time with her humming and she did a dance around the stove. Branch carefully waited until she placed the mixing bowl on the counter to flip the pancakes.

“Good morning, love.” He said softly, trying to casually slide into the room.

“Morning Branch!!” Poppy squealed, still focusing on her cooking. She turned, arms open, before a startled gasp escaped her upon seeing him. He froze, unsure of her reaction, trying to ground himself by running fingers along the inside of his pant’s pocket. A second later, he felt her warm pink arms around him, her morning hug a little tighter than usual.

“What happened?” Poppy choked, fighting distraught tears. “Your colors…”

“Can we…talk? Breakfast?” Branch managed, slipping his other arm around to press her even closer to him. Poppy nodded, and clasped his hand in hers. Without letting go, she leaned back to turn off the stove and grab the plate of stacked pancakes. She tugged him along, his feet shuffling uncertainly as he followed her to the table. He perched at the edge of his chair, staring past his pancakes, trying to figure out how to start the second hardest conversation of his life.


End file.
